"Is it all right?" asked Selwyn again, smilingly uneasy under the
concentrated scrutiny. "How about it, Drina? Shall we shake hands?"

Drina spoke at last: "Ye-es," she said slowly, "I think it is all right
to shake hands." She took a step forward, stretching out her hand.

Selwyn stooped; she laid her right hand across his, hesitated, looked up
fearlessly, and then, raising herself on tiptoe, placed both arms upon
his shoulders, offering her lips.

One by one the other children came forward to greet this promising new
uncle whom the younger among them had never before seen, and whom Drina,
the oldest, had forgotten except as that fabled warrior of legendary
exploits whose name and fame had become cherished classics of their
nursery.

And now children and dogs clustered amicably around him; under foot
tails wagged, noses sniffed; playful puppy teeth tweaked at his
coat-skirts; and in front and at either hand eager flushed little faces
were upturned to his, shy hands sought his and nestled confidently into
the hollow of his palms or took firm proprietary hold of sleeve and
coat.

"I infer," observed Selwyn blandly, "that your father and mother are not
at home. Perhaps I'd better stop in later."

"But you are going to stay here, aren't you?" exclaimed Drina in dismay.
"Don't you expect to tell us stories? Don't you expect to stay here and
live with us and put on your uniform for us and show us your swords and